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I had hot chocolate for the first time in quite a very long time… at almost nine o’clock, and another as I write this. I think the last time was that one night in the autumn of 2001 at Seryozha’s where we had hot chocolate with Kahlua; I know it’s been probably since I turned 21 that I had hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps in it. I had bought the peppermint schnapps on my latest adventure to the state store, it was in a gift package with a set of shot glasses… otherwise I’d probably not have bought it. Seeing shot glasses and the bottle brought a rush of memories from when I was 21 and living in Maryland. My life was simple then, I miss it.

Davey still makes me smile. I think of him nearly constantly… and when I lay down, I wrap my arms around my body pillow, holding it ever so tightly, still wanting it to be him. I guess it’s unhealthy, but it brings me comfort, if only in a very small way.

It’s hard to know what to think when your mind bounces between what you hope for and what you hope against.

I think I might have determined what I feel like… it’s almost like being eagerly awaiting something you know will be bad… like waiting up all night for Santa Claus knowing full well that all you’ll be getting is a bucket of coal.

When I was out in the kitchen making this second round of hot chocolate, I had some kind of profound thought, unfortunately try as I might I cannot remember it with the eloquence that it first came to me with. I guess, all I ask for right now is that Davey and I are able to keep communication lines open.

I was reading a friend’s IAM page… and she mentioned a panic, a panic where you wonder who’ll you’ll say goodnight to, who’ll you’ll ramble about the details of your day to, and who will allow you to feel content and comfortable to go to bed. I feel this same way every night. There used to be a time, and this is perhaps one of them still, where I was literally afraid to go to sleep. Sleep is the most vulnerable of physical states, and the one time that no matter how loved you are, you are completely alone in your unconsciousness; and with the exception of the lucid dream, your mind can abuse you without restriction.

One thing that I really miss would be the short little messages from Davey that would say only “I’m off to work, I love you.” …those just made me feel good, warm, cared for… they were important, they’re still important… I just wish I’d still receive them.

I grow more exhausted with living in slow motion, where there are so few things that hold any importance. There are some things that I need to do, but to do them means making a commitment to the outcome and I’m not quite sure of that yet, none the less, the clock is ticking down.

Regardless though, through this experience I’ve learned so many things, and hopefully I have become a better person for it.

Well, I wish I could say how I feel right now, but it’s a blend of emotion that I can’t quite describe. I suppose I do feel better than I did though.

I just hope that he takes the time to read what I’ve written, and so that he understands I don’t care about those little things… that I know he’s going to fuck up, because I know I will and have… and I’m not going to care for him any less because of it.

I guess I’m in slight contradiction… because I’ll give him time, as much as he feels he needs, but I don’t want to completely lose touch with him in the process, I want to be able to speak with him at least once more… if nothing else but to make sure that he knows I value him.

I really want him to come read my journal, more than just the index page, to look over the entries throughout this month… it holds some kind of importance to me; and likewise I still wish to spend the weekend of my birthday next month with him…. though I suppose it’s almost ridiculous for me to think he’d still want to see me. … I just want to have my little anime boy back, in some way, instead of being completely gone.

I hope I’m not being too impatient…

…but I guess it’s time for me to accept that I’ve lost someone I love. :(

Curses for me seeing hope where there is none.

Davey emailed me…

I don’t know what to make of it… we’re both so confused, I wish we could talk things out… that he’d call me, or answer when I would call.

I get the distinct feeling that he doesn’t understand what me loving him means. The way I care for him transcends mistakes made… it doesn’t have conditions. I love Davey for Davey, not some illusional ideal that I think he is. There is nothing that he can do that will cause me to stop loving him.

…unfortunately I don’t think he loves me anymore.

04:10… I finally finished my reply, I think it’s too long, but I write a lot… and if I knew a way to shorten what I have to say I would. I hope he’ll agree to us having at least one more conversation… I’m so glad that he wrote me though, even if what he had to say wasn’t what I would have wanted to hear. I’ll give him as much time as he feels he needs, I just don’t think I can handle being blocked out of the life of someone that I’ve spoken with nearly everyday over the past year and a half, someone that I love so completely.

I want to give him a hug.

I want to see him for my birthday.

I want to have him with me when I go to Europe.

I want to be able to share random bits of life with him.

I want him to be safe.

I want him to be happy.

I love him, more than I ever expected to be possible for me… and likewise, he’s made me feel more loved than I expected could be possible. Likewise, I miss him, every little thing about him, more than I could ever express; I hope that he reads my words and takes them to heart, hoping that they prompt for positive change for the two of us.

Why does it have to be this way?

It took him 63 seconds to sign off… after I messaged him, of course I knew that would happen.

I’m just a fool… a fool that gives a damn about someone who (unfortunately it seems) obviously doesn’t give a damn about me.

Please forgive me for feeling anger.

Nothing I can do can make it better…. …it seems, and everything I do only seems to make it worse.

Another three ounces of vodka… after the previous twelve… if I drink enough I’ll lack to hand/eye coordination….

“chopping off what’s incomplete and saying: “Now it’s complete because it’s ended here.”"

What good is a life like this? …what good is a life where the ones you one you love most refuses to speak to you? …where there is nothing, absolutely nothing that you look forward to… waking up for?

I hate myself for the things I’ve done… …and what makes me feel worst is that I hate myself for the things I haven’t done, because I can’t do them…

Two people… confused and worried… one wanting more than anything to talk to the other.